


the wide world is all about you

by blackkat



Series: came singing in the sun [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Culture Shock, F/M, First Meetings, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: When intel surfaces that Grievous is hidden away on an isolationist planet far from any hyperlanes, the 501st Legion is sent after him. Rex has heard enough mixed stories about Ennorath that he's not entirely sure what to expect, but senators in chain mail, princes on horses, and orcs waiting to ambush them definitely didn't factor in.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Éomer Éadig
Series: came singing in the sun [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989193
Comments: 35
Kudos: 572
Collections: Star Wars Alternate Universes





	the wide world is all about you

**Author's Note:**

> This existing is Tumblr's fault, of course. It becoming a series is mine.

“Come for the droids, get eaten by the karking _wildlife_ ,” Fives complains loudly, and promptly yelps as the creature he’s fighting slams bodily into him, toppling him backwards towards the ground.

“Fives!” Rex shouts, and spares half a second to aim and fire before he has to duck the huge, rusty blade that tries to take off his head. Two quick shots put it down, and Rex spins to find Fives just climbing to his feet, grabbing for his blaster. Relief is a wash of shaky warmth in his chest, and Rex says, “Less bitching, more fighting.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Fives says, always mouthy, and flips a charge up, then flings it hard at another knot of the creatures coming over the rise. They scatter, and Fives pulls a face, taking three long steps back to run right up against Echo as he retreats as well. “Captain, I hate to say it, but I think this was a bad idea.”

Rex grimaces, turning to put his back to the huddle, and they're in the bottom of a ring of hills, with the local menaces on all sides and no way out. “I hate to agree with you even more, but now would be a good time for the general to show up.”

If Anakin is waiting for his moment to appear, though, he doesn’t take the invitation. The rolling green hills spit out more creatures, covered in war paint and howling, and Rex has a really, really bad feeling about their odds here. What was supposed to be a scouting mission to see how far they are from civilization—because this planet has _weird_ ideas about keeping their spaceports deep in the mountains instead of somewhere convenient—is rapidly turning into a suicide run. And while that’s maybe not as unfamiliar as it should be for Torrent, this is getting worse by the minute.

“Kriff,” Rex hisses, and shoots the first creature trying to start down the hill. It falls, but like a damn breaking, the rest surge forward—

A horn sounds, high and clear and carrying, and in an instant the organized charge tumbles headlong into chaos. Half the creatures spin, facing whatever threat is beyond the crest of the hill, and one of them—a leader, apparently—surges forward, shouting in that strange, hair-raising possibly-language. Rex can't quite tell if it’s just noises, but it has the ranks advancing, hurling themselves forward as a low, thundering rumble sounds. The horn comes again, and the half of the creatures that were holding back turn and bolt, right towards Rex and his men.

Rex shouts a warning, and it’s echoed by a cry from two dozen throats. Over the crest of the hill, like a wave of metal and cloth and muscle, horses charge, armored figures on their backs. They crash into the creatures, driving them back with spears and swords, and from behind them there’s a horn-blast. More riders split around the fighting soldiers, galloping past Rex and Echo and Fives like a tide with their green banners trailing. They follow the fleeing creatures over the next hill, but Rex doesn’t turn to look. He steps forward, trying to pick out what’s happening, and catches a flash of rusty metal in the setting sun.

One of the riders is alone in a knot of the creatures, laying around himself with a sword, but he’s outnumbered, none of his companions close enough to help. His grey horse is kicking out, surging up on its hind legs as the creatures try to grab it, and the man is snarling, the long golden tail coming from the top of his helmet caught in a creature’s fist. He jerks, stabs backwards, but another grabs the haft of his spear, a third lunges up to grab his leg, and he struggles, swings—

Instantly, with the speed of sheer reflex, Rex raises a pistol, fires. The creature that was just about to swing at the rider falls, tumbling away, and Rex hits the one holding the spear but doesn’t kill it.

With a cry, another figure in armor, this one on a brown horse, leaps a fallen creature and gallops down the hill towards the other rider. The rider of the brown horse crashes bodily into the knot of creatures surrounding the other soldier, and he spins his mount, laying around himself as the other riders spill down the slope. They drive the remaining creatures back, and as the last one falls, there’s a loud horn-call in the distance. Without hesitation, the riders keep going, streaming past Rex, Echo, and Fives and up over the next hill, after the other riders.

Slowly, deliberately, Rex lowers his blaster, jerks his head at Echo and Fives to make them do the same. The two riders on the brown and grey horses are left, speaking to each other in low voices as they lean across the gap between their mounts, and they look entirely unconcerned to have armed clones standing a few meters away. As Rex watches, the grey’s rider reaches out, and the brown’s rider clasps his forearm before they lean in and rest their helmets together.

The almost-familiar gesture feels jarring to see, Rex thinks, and swallows. They're not Mandalorian, and this planet doesn’t have the Keldabe kiss, but—clearly this is something roughly equivalent.

Then, slow, the two riders turn their horses, and Rex pulls himself up to his full height as they make their way up the valley. Walking, not galloping, so clearly they're in no hurry to go after the other riders, but Rex can't help a flicker of wariness. Ennorath is an isolationist planet, infamous for keeping its own culture and requiring visitors to keep outside technology to a minimum, and any authority likely won't take news of a clone company landing in their mountains well.

Anakin is supposed to be the one to greet any locals, seeing as he’s the Jedi, and they respect the Jedi. Rex doesn’t know _nearly_ enough about anything happening here to manage. Not that Anakin is probably much better, but. At least Ahsoka can usually fake it decently.

“Captain,” Echo says, low and sharp, clearly concerned.

Before Rex can tell him to keep his mouth shut, the rider on the grey horse pulls his mount to a halt. “Captain,” he repeats, and there's a rolling accent to his Galactic Standard, but it’s clear. “You are the leader?”

“Yes,” Rex says, and pauses. Ennorath’s been entirely out of galactic politics the last few years and not accepting outside comms, according to Anakin. He isn't even sure they _know_ about the war, given the planet’s distance from most hyperlanes. “Captain Rex of the Grand Army of the Republic.”

The two riders trade looks, and the one on the brown horse reaches up. Grips metal, pulls—

Rex can hear the way Fives's breath hitches, can feel how still Echo goes, but it’s not like he _blames_ them. The woman is beautiful, waves of white-gold hair spilling down over her armor, face smeared with dirt but still almost unnervingly lovely.

“Army,” she repeats. “The Republic has no army.”

Kriff. Rex could _really_ use a Jedi right about now. “It does now,” he says. “There’s a civil war going on. The Confederacy of Independent Systems is trying to destroy the Republic, and we’re trying to stop them.”

The grey’s rider takes a breath, then pulls off his own helmet, and—

Well. Maybe Rex kind of loses _his_ breath, because the other rider is a man with the same golden hair as the woman, but a shade darker, with dark eyes and a worried frown. He’s beautiful, too, in a rougher way, and—Rex has never really taken time to think about what sorts of faces he likes, but. Now he’s got a template, apparently.

“Éowyn,” the man says, and the woman’s mouth tightens even as she nods.

“We must return to Edoras at once,” she says, and the man tips his head in agreement, then casts a glance at Rex.

“I am Éomer,” he says. “You came alone?”

It takes Rex a long moment to decide to answer, but—if they don’t know about the Seps, it’s probably not a trap. “We were scouting,” he says. “The rest of the company got held up in the mountains. There was a thunderstorm, and—”

“Stone giants,” Éomer says, grim. “You took shelter in the caves, I assume?”

It would have been nice to know about the handy caves _before_ their general and commander tried to fight creatures made out of stone with plasma swords, Rex thinks, and grimaces. “Eventually.”

Éomer snorts at that, and just a flicker of humor lights his face, softening the lines of it for an instant. Éowyn isn't nearly so reserved; a smile breaks over her features, warming them completely, and she hides a chuckle behind one hand.

“There are warnings,” she says. “Posted outside the spaceport. Our lands are not kind to visitors.”

“So we’re learning,” Rex says, maybe a little sour, and then sighs. “Our general is Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. He’s with the rest of the company, waiting out the storm. Fives, Echo, and I were on the other side of the pass when the…stone giants started fighting.”

“Playing,” Éomer corrects, and urges his horse closer, leaning down to offer Rex his hand. “The stone giants _play_ when there are storms. But between the giants and the orcs, I can imagine your day has been unpleasant.”

Orcs are probably the creatures that surrounded them, then. Rex eyes Éomer’s hand, then glances up at his face, and asks, “This because you want me to shake it?”

Éomer snorts, unimpressed. “I offer a ride. It’s a long way to Edoras, and we must move quickly. Our king should know of this war beyond our borders.”

Rex has never been on a horse before, and has never really wanted to be. He eyes the huge grey beast warily, then asks without much hope, “Got a speeder?”

Éowyn smiles, pulling the horn from her saddle. “There are no speeders used on Ennorath. We will send the Riders of the Mark to find your company, Captain, but you must speak with our king while they travel.”

“Don’t you have senators?” Fives asks, sounding skeptical. “How do they get anywhere if you don’t have speeders?”

Éowyn outright laughs at that, and even Éomer smiles. As Éowyn raises the horn to her lips, armor shining in the sun, he grabs the hand Rex reluctantly offers, clasping their forearms.

“Our senators travel like anyone else,” he says. “As you can see. My sister is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, the White Lady and Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She is our second senator.”

The horn rings out across the hills, high and sweet and carrying, and Rex looks from Éowyn to Éomer with something like disbelief bubbling up in his chest.

“She’s the senator, and so what are you?” he asks.

Éomer smirks, a quick, wicked curl of his mouth beneath his short beard. “Third Marshal of the Riddermark,” he says, “and Rohan’s prince.”

Rex is entirely caught off guard, and _far_ too bewildered to even think of protesting when Éomer hauls him up off the ground and into the saddle behind him.


End file.
